Page 89 of Love On and Off Set

I bent to undo my running shoes. I wore leather ones at work—had to look professional—but no way did I wear them anywhere else. Damn expensive things were for appearances, not practicality. I shucked my coat, draped it over one of the bar stools at my high-top table, and headed for the fridge. Ten minutes later, I sat on my sofa bed and scrolled through the various movies I’d saved on my PVR.

Oh, one I hadn’t watched. Cole Hamilton and Peter Erickson had done a little indie film a few years ago. About gay lovers. Peter had won an Academy Award. And he had…I squinted. Been accidentally outed during filming? I’d heard something about it back then. Anyway, he’d married some guy, and they had two kids. Right. Cole had recently come out as bi and was in a relationship with two other very attractive and clearly smart people. A nurse and an engineer.

Vern was a waste-disposal expert for the city of Vancouver, and he hadn’t thought I was worthwhile. Not that his job wasn’t important…more the fact he felt I should’ve gone out with the trash.

I forked some stir-fry into my mouth.

Or was it that I’d decided he should be put out on the curb?

Regardless, I was alone on New Year’s Eve.

And, by the end of the movie, I was crying. A good ugly cry at the brilliant upbeat ending of a fantastic film. One I’d watch again. Just…maybe not when I was in a state of…whatever I was.

Because I couldn’t get the ghost out of my mind.

Needing to do just that, however, I gave the dude one massive shove. I showered, donned a beautiful dark-plum shirt that complemented my coloring, paired it with my black knit pants, pulled on my wool coat and, finally, added comfortable shoes that looked nice and hadn’t set me back nearly a paycheck.

I headed out the door. If I wasn’t going to get lucky tonight, I was at least going to wind up with a nice buzz.

Or so you tell yourself.

Chapter Three

Brody

Jumpin’ Jacks was, well, jumping.

I’d snagged a cab from home. After having walked Minnie for a couple of hours, I didn’t want to walk the two miles back to the bar just on Granville Street. Granville Street that was already packed with revelers. Some were headed down to the beach to stake out the best place to watch the fireworks.

In another universe, I might’ve done that. On a night where the temperatures had dipped below freezing and the fireworks were going to be hours from now? No fucking way.

I spotted Seamus as soon as I entered the bar. The adorable Newfie redhead was at the bar, holding up four fingers.

Ah, so he wasn’t alone. Despite Newfoundlanders’ reputations for being able to drink other Canadians under the table, our dear Seamus was a lightweight. He usually stuck to just one or two. And only came out about once a month. He and Val were very much homebodies.

For Val, that was vastly different from attending every glitzy event like when he lived in LA. Now he preferred Canada and the quiet life.

I agreed with that. As much as I loved Jumpin’ Jacks, I didn’t come often. Only ever with the crew and cast of any production I was working on. Jacks wasn’t a gay bar, but the place was very queer friendly. Given Academy Award actors Elouise Hynes and Peter Erickson had been spotted numerous times, along with Emmy Award-winning actor Cole Hamilton, being anti-gay wouldn’t have worked. We’d have found another place.

Seamus glanced over, caught my eye, and beamed his megawatt smile. So different from the shy smiles he used to offer when he first became a production assistant on Vigilante Justice. He waved enthusiastically. “You can help me carry beers.”

I sidled over to him. “You’ve ordered four. I’d like a drink as well. That makes five.” I snagged his hands in mine. “Four hands, my friend.”

“Oh.” He frowned. “Well, three are bottles. Surely, I can carry three bottles and you can carry whatever you’re getting and Val’s martini. We’ve already got like twenty glasses for water and three pitchers full with tons of ice water. Beer is just a treat.”

I laughed. “I get it. Yes, I’ll happily carry Val’s drink. I’m thinking of getting a Granville Island Pale Ale myself.”

“Oh crap. I forgot about that. I ordered a craft beer.”

“You can have a sip of mine.”

He grinned. “Thanks. That’d be great.”

Possibly not the most hygienic thing ever. But this was Seamus.

I added my pale ale to the list as the bartender grinned. “Cole coming tonight?”

Seamus shook his head and offered a regretful smile.